Bohanin's Last Days (4 page)

Bohanin stared into the glass of whiskey. Why had Starbuck backed down? It was obvious that he could probably have taken Bohanin with gun or fist. Bohanin didn't consider the hard case to be a coward and he didn't feel the withdrawal was a matter of luck. He knew how men thought and generally reacted in tense situations. What was so important for a man like Starbuck to do the one thing that completely went against his temperament?

Bohanin excused himself and started for the boarding house and supper. He paused at the doorway of the saloon. For several moments he scanned the empty street for a sign of a possible ambush. It was impossible to tell in the evening shadows who or what might be lurking beneath them. Bohanin reasoned that unless he wanted to be a captive of his own fears in the saloon he would have to make his move. He stepped through the door and walked toward the boarding house, staying close to the sides of the buildings.

Chapter V

Nobel watched Bohanin from a narrow alley between the leather shop and a small tool shed as the soldier made slow progress toward the boarding house. To get to the Johnson home Bohanin would have to pass the alley.

“Is he coming?” Starbuck asked.

“Yeah, he'll be here in a few minutes. The old man's being careful. He's no dummy, that's for sure.”

“Is his gun drawn?” Starbuck asked.

“No, but he's ready. I don't like this. I can't see any purpose in dogging this guy.”

“You know what we were told. Keep an eye on the woman and make sure she leaves town alone. I got me a feeling that this guy knows more than it seems,” Starbuck said.

“Picking a fight with him was stupid,” Nobel said. “You almost got us involved in gunplay with someone who we don't even know is involved for sure or not.”

“Thought I'd see what he was made of,” Starbuck whispered.

“Well, you found out. Salty old fart, ain't he?” Nobel asked and smiled.

Starbuck nodded. “Yeah, the old rooster was ready to shoot it out with the lot of us. Can you imagine? I never figured the likes of him to go down in a blaze of glory over a free drink of whiskey.”

Espironsa stepped closer to Nobel to watch Bohanin's progress. “You can never be sure, amigo. I told you that before. The hombre that gets you will always be the one you think is no good with the pistola.”

“We still don't know how good he is,” Starbuck said.

“Si. But we know he will fight and for now that's enough. I think I should go back to the rancho and tell of this man,” Espironsa whispered.

“That's a good idea. Starbuck and I can check things out from here. You best high tail it,” Nobel said.

“And what about this old man?” Starbuck asked.

“We'll talk to him. Act like we want no hard feelings. See if we can pull the fuse on this keg before it gets out of control. We'll ruin everything if we get this gent stirred up and he ain't in the know,” Nobel said.

“And what if he is? What if we scared him enough that he goes for his gun?” Starbuck asked.

“Just let me handle this. I don't think he'll show fight without good reason. He ain't got no reason to light into me. You're the one that showed fight. I'm just a cowpoke trying to make peace.”

Espironsa withdrew down the back of the alley and Nobel stepped into the open.

“There's two men here. Don't get riled up, old timer, we just want to talk,” Nobel said as Bohanin neared.

Bohanin slipped against the wall of a leather shop but he did not draw his gun.

“What do you want?” Bohanin asked.

Nobel stepped onto the boardwalk, his hands in the air, palms forward. “Just want to talk. We think there has been a misunderstanding and we don't want any hard feelings.”

“Where's your friend?” Bohanin asked.

“Right here,” Starbuck said as he slowly joined Nobel.

“And the Mexican with the big knife?” Bohanin asked.

Nobel smiled and thumbed the direction that Espironsa took. “He lit out on his way back to the ranch. He wasn't really involved in this.”

Bohanin relaxed but kept his eye on the alley and his back to the wall. “Speak your peace. I've got supper waiting.”

Nobel smiled. “Starbuck here gets a little too cock-sure of himself every once in a while. We didn't mean no trouble. We wanted you to know there was no hard feelings on our part.”

“Don't matter much, I guess,” Bohanin said, “I can let it pass.”

“We'd sure like that, stranger,” Nobel said. “We don't need no more trouble in this town, for sure. Our boss, Mr. Bochart, warned us not to get into any more scrapes.”

“You could have just rode for the ranch. You didn't need to make no apologies,” Bohanin said.

Nobel hesitated. “We didn't want word to get back to Mr. Bochart without talking to you. Otherwise, we'd have to tell him about the trouble and we'd just as soon not do that, if you get my drift.”

“Bochart will hear no stories from me,” Bohanin said.

“You don't know him then?” Nobel asked.

“Never laid eyes on the man and never intend to,” Bohanin answered.

“Just passing through town, then?” Nobel asked.

“Never intend to return. I was just looking for a friendly drink of whiskey.”

“Tell the man you're sorry,” Nobel said to Starbuck.

Starbuck shook his head and looked toward the ground. “I apologize,” he said softly.

Bohanin nodded.

“We could still have that drink of whiskey to show that there's no hard feelings,” Nobel offered.

“I'd like to oblige but I've got supper waiting and I was told not to be late.”

“We could buy your supper,” Nobel said.

“That's fine. But, mine's already bought and paid for. Besides I'm curious to see how good the vittles are,” Bohanin said. “I suppose you could join me at the boarding house for a bite.”

Nobel cut his eyes toward Johnson's boarding house. “No, she don't run no cafe. That food's only for the guests. Starbuck and me will get something back at the saloon.”

“Suit yourself,” Bohanin said.

“Well, then, we'll vamoose. Just want you to know that there's no hard feelings,” Nobel said.

Bohanin nodded. “No hard feelings.”

“We'll head for the saloon. Maybe we'll cross trails again.” Nobel said as he led a reluctant Starbuck past Bohanin.

“Maybe so,” Bohanin said in as friendly a manner as he could muster.

Bohanin waited near the wall of the leather shop until he felt the two cowboys were safely out of shooting distance. Once he was sure they were no longer a threat, he drew his revolver and slowly walked toward the alley. He cautiously peered into the shadows for the Mexican and kept his revolver cocked until he had passed.

Starbuck and Nobel entered the saloon and ordered two drinks from Spike. Nobel led Starbuck to a table that was apart from the rest and took a seat. Starbuck sat across the table from Nobel, his eyes on the door.

“What do you think?” Nobel asked.

“I don't think we know any more than we did in the first place,” Starbuck said before taking a drink of his whiskey.

Nobel shook his head. “I don't think the gent knows a thing. I think if we'd just taken his free drink, we'd be a hell of a lot better off than we are.”

Starbuck tilted his hat back on his head, tipped back his chair and placed one boot on the table. “How the hell you figure that? Just cause he said he was passing through, don't make it so.”

“How'd the woman be able to contact him? And why'd she get such an old fart into this mess?” Nobel asked.

“How the hell do we know that he isn't her father, or uncle, or something?” Starbuck asked.

Nobel shook his head. He didn't know a damn thing for certain except that Bohanin's arrival was too odd to just brush off, especially when he showed fight like he did.

“You're right. Maybe after we get word from the ranch, we can get some idea of how to handle this,” Nobel said.

“I think that if he gets in the way, we drill him, right in the head. One more won't make that much difference,” Starbuck said coldly.

“I guess you're right. Once this business is over, I guess it won't matter much one way or the other.”

Bohanin holstered his revolver as he made his way across the street toward the boarding house. He stopped by the picket fence in front of the place and looked down the street. He could hear the table being set in the dining room and guests assembling.

A cowboy on a sorrel gelding rode to the hitch rail in front of the fence and stepped down. He started for the picket fence gate.

“Nice evening,” the cowboy said.

Bohanin looked around at the sky and surroundings, “Yes, it is a nice evening.”

“Usually are this time of year,” the cowboy said as he took out the makings for a smoke. “You want a cigarette?”

Bohanin nodded and took the papers and tobacco pouch. “California Gold,” Bohanin read from the pouch label. “I've never tried this brand.”

“I get it down at the general store. It's a bit cheaper than some of the other brands, but I can't tell no difference,” the cowboy said as he struck a match against the picket fence.

Bohanin accepted the light and drew a puff. He eyed the cowboy. He was in his late twenties, dressed in jeans, chaps, a scarlet bandanna, and a Smith & Wesson strapped to his hip. He wore a peaked Montana style hat with a tie string of leather.

“You from around here?” Bohanin asked.

“I run a little one loop outfit about twenty miles west of here,” the cowboy said. “Name's Dawdrey Lance.”

“Don't ride for the Bocharts, then?” Bohanin asked as he flicked an ash from his cigarette. “These are pretty good.”

“Naw, I used to. But I've always had a hankering to go it on my own. Mrs. Bochart got me started. Signed a note to guarantee my loan. She's a fine lady.”

“Heard of her but I don't know her,” Bohanin said.

“I don't think they're too bad. Secret is to keep your makings' moist. I'll put a piece of an apple core in the pouch if it gets too dry,” Lance said. “She's an invalid, you know.”

“I didn't know that.”

“I don't know what's the matter with her. Can't use her legs right. I haven't seen her leave the house in several years.”

“How does she conduct her business? Through her husband?” Bohanin asked.

“I guess so. She owns the place. He was just a no account cowboy like me when she met him. She married him after her father died. The way I understand it, she keeps a tight rein on the purse strings.”

“You staying here tonight?” Bohanin asked.

“Naw, I just rode in for supper. Mrs. Johnson ladles up a real good meal.”

“I thought only boarders could get a meal here,” Bohanin said.

“There's cowboys stopping by for a four-square hot one here all the time. Mrs. Johnson always fixes plenty for the likes of me,” he said. “To tell you the truth, it ain't just Mrs. Johnson's cooking that draws us cowboys in here.”

“Oh, what's that?” Bohanin asked.

“That school marm, didn't you see her?” Dawdrey asked quietly.

“Yeah, I think I did. She's a tall woman, raven hair, green eyes.”

The cowboy nodded and flicked his cigarette butt into the street. “That's her. A real looker. I tried to get her to go out with me but she wouldn't have nothing to do with the likes of me. Probably figures she can do better. School district doesn't allow no hitched up women to teach here. She probably figures she can find herself someone with a better future before she gives up a five hundred a year job. Can't say that I blame her.”

Bohanin smiled. “I don't know. You're a nice looking enough feller. Maybe you just need to stay with it a while?”

“Yeah, that's what I figure. Anyway, she can't stop me from looking. I can eat here and enjoy the scenery at the same time. Makes for the best meal in the territory.”

Bohanin smiled. “Well, if we don't get in there, we'll both miss the meal and the show.”

Dawdrey Lance nodded. “Well, then let's go.”

Bohanin took a last puff on his cigarette and followed the cowboy up the steps.

Chapter VI

Dawdrey Lance hung his hat on a tree by the doorway and motioned to Bohanin.

“There's a place to wash up back here,” Lance said.

Bohanin hung his hat next to Lance's and looked about dining room for the school teacher. He followed the cowboy through the central hall by the stairs, past his own room, into the back porch. Several wash basins and pitchers lined the wall on a narrow table. Bohanin removed his coat and joined the cowboy at the next basin. After the men washed up, Lance removed his gun belt and spurs.

“Mrs. Johnson don't allow no gun rigs or spurs at the table,” he said.

Bohanin nodded and removed his gun belt.

Mrs. Johnson came through the swinging door from the kitchen carrying a large crock of dumplings in one arm and a bowl of mashed potatoes in the other. She smiled at Dawdrey Lance.

“Dawdrey. It is good to see you. Come for a bite to eat, did ya?” she asked.

“Yes um, if you've a plate to spare,” Lance said.

“I've always got a place for you. If I don't, I'll make one. I see you've made acquaintance with Captain Bohanin.”

Dawdrey smiled with embarrassment, “I guess I never did catch your name.”

“L.J. Bohanin, retired 10th U.S. Cavalry,” Bohanin said as he shook Dawdrey's hand.

“That was a Black outfit, wasn't it?” Lance asked.

“Still is. Just cause I retired doesn't mean that they have. They're down in Arizona now, chasing Apaches,” Bohanin said as he took a place beside the cowboy.

Dawdrey looked to the staircase and smiled. The school teacher stood at the doorway, smiling, preparing to enter the room.

Bohanin nudged Lance in the ribs. “Careful boy, flies'll collect in your mouth.”

Dawdrey smiled and looked down at the table. “Is it that obvious?”

“It's that obvious, but I can't say that I blame you,” Bohanin said softly.

The woman took a place across the table from Bohanin.

“Captain Bohanin, this is Millie Toland. She's been our grade school teacher for the last two years,” Mrs. Johnson said. “But she's leaving us tomorrow.”

“Naw. What for?” Dawdrey Lance blurted.

Bohanin nodded to the woman and was greeted by a warm smile.

“How are you, Dawdrey?” the woman asked in a butter smooth voice.

“What you leaving for, Millie?” Dawdrey asked.

“I'm taking another position in Julesburg,” she said.

“What's that school got that we don't?” Dawdrey asked.

Bohanin noticed how kindly Millie addressed the cowboy.

“It's closer to home for me. I can see my folks and family more often,” she answered.

One of the elderly ladies passed Dawdrey the bowl of mashed potatoes. He took them and spooned a dip on his plate.

“Well, I guess I can understand that. I just hate to see you go,” Lance said.

“I hate to go. Everyone here has been so kind to me. But this was a chance that I might not get again for a long time. I've been a little lonely here,” she said.

“Weren't cause we wanted you to be, you know,” Dawdrey said.

“Lonely for my family. Not for good friends,” Millie said as she nodded toward the others at the table.

“We'll all miss you. I imagine Dawdrey will just miss you worse,” Mrs. Johnson said with a parental look toward the cowboy.

“I don't deny it. I'll probably miss you more than anyone else in town, Millie.”

“I believe that. But they'll be other friends for you. You are a fine man. Someday, I'll be able to say with pride that I know you,” she said.

Bohanin wondered if he wouldn't have acted the same way as Dawdrey Lance if he had known the woman for any length of time.

Her green eyes turned focused on Bohanin. They were the strangest color that the officer had ever seen. Her complexion was soft. Her neck was long, without a blemish. Her black hair seemed to have streaks of amber through it.

“I understand you've only recently retired from the service, Captain Bohanin,” she said.

Bohanin nodded. “Yes, I'm on my way to the West Coast.”

“Have you family out there?” she asked.

“No, I'm on my way to see the country.”

“I'll bet you're excited about that. I've always wanted to see an ocean,” she said.

She watched Bohanin spoon his potatoes.

“I don't mean to be forward, sir, but did you receive that wrist injury in combat?” she asked.

“Yes, at the Battle of the Willows. Seven years ago.”

“Captain Bohanin has served his country through two wars as well as fought several Indian engagements,” Mrs. Johnson said. “He is a veteran of the Mexican and the Civil War.”

“No stranger to dangerous and thrilling adventure, I would suppose,” Millie said.

“Mainly just years of army routine.”

“I wish that I could remain here for a spell. I would like to hear stories of your exploits,” she said.

“Not much to hear. Mainly just service in the cavalry,” Bohanin said.

“I think you are too modest, Captain Bohanin. It was brave men such as yourself who were instrumental to winning the West. I believe we all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

The table company broke into a small round of applause.

Bohanin tried to accept the applause graciously. He remembered women with Millie's gift. Libby Custer was one. Very few women were able to lift common men to greater heights, either through appeals to vanity, or force of will.

Dinner conversation was pleasant throughout the evening. Dawdrey overcame his disappointment and joined in. Bohanin found himself the center of attention more than he desired, but he noticed that whenever he started to become uncomfortable with occasionally naive questions, Millie changed the subject. After a while he withdrew from the exchanges and acted as an observer.

Dawdrey Lance also impressed Bohanin with his intelligence and honesty. He made no pretense of grand abilities or accomplishments. He was simply a cowboy who had managed to put together a small ranch with a modest income. It was obvious that his designs were modest, perhaps a couple of hundred cows, a family and a nice home to raise kids.

Netty Johnson was a woman in which Bohanin could become realistically interested. Handsome and easygoing, she conducted herself in the mature and nurturing fashion of a woman of experience and knowledge. A widow in her fifties with a hard working and good natured manner, she was in many ways an equal to Millie Toland. Bohanin realized that although he had not been particularly attracted to the town or its location, there were some excellent and interesting people living in it. He decided to stay for a few more days. It might be quite a spell before he found such a comfortable and pleasant place.

After the meal, Millie excused herself to her room saying that she still had a great deal of packing to do. Dawdrey said that he had to be going. He still faced a ten mile ride to his place in the dark. Bohanin asked if there were any journals that he might read and Netty gave him the latest copy of
Harper's Weekly
. The sitting room was pleasant with a particularly comfortable looking high-backed stuffed chair positioned near a front window and a small round table with reading lamp. Netty produced a pedestal ashtray for the Captain and opened the near window for access to a breeze. Bohanin settled into the chair for a pleasant evening read.

Not more than ten minutes had elapsed when the front door opened and a tall man, well dressed and handsome, entered the center hall. He was clean-shaven with streaks of gray through his temples. He waited quietly for Mrs. Johnson to step from the kitchen to attend to him. She addressed him as Mr. Bochart. Bohanin put aside his
Harper's Weekly
for a moment to have a second look.

Bochart requested Mrs. Johnson to summon Millie down as he had some final school board business to conduct. Bohanin was especially intrigued with Millie's reaction when she stepped into the central hall within his view. She seemed strained and uncertain as she greeted Bochart. Bochart seemed uneasy as though he wanted a private conversation.

“Why don't I give you folks some privacy. You are more than welcome to use this room,” Bohanin offered.

“Thank you, Captain. That won't be necessary. We can go out on the porch,” Millie said.

Bochart stood in silence.

“I'm sorry, Logan. Where are my manners?” Millie asked. Logan Bochart this is Captain Bohanin from Kansas.”

Bochart shook Bohanin's hand. “ It's nice to meet you. Yes, we can talk on the porch.”

“It might be a bit chilly for the lady,” Bohanin said. “I believe I'll free this space just in case. It was nice to meet you both.”

The couple stepped to the porch.

Bohanin neatly folded his paper and made preparations to go to his room. He thought of the odd mannerisms of Bochart and Toland. Maybe her leaving the district was more than just an opportunity to teach closer to her parents. Perhaps the board had made it uncomfortable for the young woman, or perhaps she was not happy with conditions at the school. Perhaps the board was just unhappy that the attractive and capable woman was leaving her position, especially since it was so difficult to get competent teachers in such an isolated area. Whatever the circumstances, it was certainly none of his business.

Bohanin placed the paper on the table and blew out the lamp. As Bohanin started up the stairs, Mrs. Johnson stepped into the hall and asked if he would care for an evening sherry before he retired. Bohanin accepted graciously. Mrs. Johnson produced a decanter and filled two small glasses.

Mrs. Johnson was quite pleasant and Bohanin found himself amused by her wit. She was exhausted from her long day and upon finishing her drink she bade him good night. Before leaving, she offered Bohanin a second glass of sherry. Bohanin accepted and rather than sit at the table, chose to return to the comfortable chair in the sitting room to enjoy a few moments with his sherry. Moonlight spilled into the room through the windows. Only the regular ticking of a mantle clock kept him company as he sipped his sherry and relived the events of the day.

Millie Toland and Logan Bochart changed position on the verandah. There was a small padded bench directly in front of the window nearest to Bohanin's chair. They moved so quickly that Bohanin did not have time allow them privacy.

Millie Toland sat on the bench and Logan Bochart's angry voice carried through the open window.

“I can't understand why you have elected to have this child.”